Are you happy?
by Phoenix-Flower92
Summary: Lilly. Oliver. The backseat of a car. Oneshot Loliver!


**A/N: This is one that I have been meaning to write for awhile now, but just never got around to it. If you also read my oneshot titled, "Noon," you'll notice that the two connect. "Noon" also mentions Lilly flying with Oliver...so if you want to create yourself a time-line, this occured before Lilly's Thanksgiving with Oliver. lol. But yeah.**

** Anyways, I hope you like it!!! Happy Holidays, everyone!**

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No, we are not bad kids.

And yes, I admit, when you put it in the way of, "we were in the backseat of Oliver's Dad's car," it's going to sound bad. But I swear, Oliver was a perfect gentleman, and that night was an evening I will never ever forget.

Naturally, any time spent with Oliver is unforgettable, but this night was special. This night…I remember it so intensely, so passionately and fondly, because this night held with it a realization. This was the night I realized I was in love.

Most of my peers at school might itch with disgust at the opportunity Oliver and I had and did not take. I know Amber and Ashley would; neither of them still possess their virginity.

But Oliver and I are different. We do not date for sex, or for an image, or for a status, or for any other reason other than the fact that we both have feelings to express for the other. We are not perfect, though. Oliver still tests me sometimes, and on this night, too, he tested me.

The night I am speaking of is when Oliver Oscar Oken took me flying. The flying is not the part I want to emphasize; it's the events that occurred afterwards. Of course it was special as he sat right behind me in his father's plane, as he held my hand during the take-off and the landing, and as he whispered in my ears and kissed my fingers…but really, the good part took place once we were alone, in the backseat of his father's car.

Oliver's Dad was taking two couples flying that evening. Oliver and I were first, and then, Oliver's father's best friend George, along with his girlfriend.

"I'll let you two wait in the car," Mr. Oken said to us as we climbed down from the plane. He glanced from Oliver to me and to Oliver again, "I'm trusting you."

Oliver and I just smiled at each other, walking over to the car together and sliding into the backseat. It was quiet at first, as we simply sat there.

"I want you to lay down," Oliver finally told me. He patted his lap, and I raised an eyebrow. "If you want to," he added.

I giggled, "Okay."

I readjusted my position, until my head was in his lap and a smile was on my face. It was quiet again, but not awkward at all.

"Are you comfortable?" He asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"Good." He said.

I closed my eyes, and I needed such a moment to last forever. If I could have frozen the time, I would have. With all my past boyfriends, the relationship was either awkward or forced, or fake, or I worried about my every move. It wasn't like that with Oliver. With Oliver…were there even words to express what Oliver and I were like?!

Another silence passed, and the next question he asked is the one I remember most; it still brings tears to my eyes to recall what he said.

"Are you happy?" His voice was soft and sincere.

Was I happy? He was truly inquiring about my happiness? I knew he deeply cared for me when such words left his lips. If he didn't care, my happiness wouldn't even cross his mind. It overwhelmed me, those three simple words, and in some ways, they even meant more than the typical three words of "I love you."

I was so touched, I couldn't answer him with any other word than "yes." Yet, At the same time, I wasn't just happy; happy was not a fitting word for my mood. I was more than happy. I was so content, so relaxed, so complete. For the first time in my life, I was perfect, because with Oliver and to Oliver, I _was_ perfect.

"Now, I want you to tell me if I ever push you too far," He began, "I want you to be able to trust me. And if I do something you're uncomfortable with, tell me, okay? You need to be able to tell me."

I nodded, and he placed a hand on my upper thigh. "Is this okay?" he said.

"It's okay."

I realized he was testing me, as he placed a hand over my left breast. "What about this?"

My heart sped up, "No." My voice shook.

Immediately he removed his hand. "Good," he told me, "It shouldn't be. Making sure you aren't horny or anything."

His hand returned to my upper thigh, "This was okay, right?"

"Yeah, that's okay."

I closed my eyes again, and in the darkness Oliver reached out, and his fingers traced the features of my face. From my forehead, to my cheeks, to my nose, to my jaw line, to my lips. At my lips, my eyes snapped open, and I peered up into his chocolate brown eyes. I leaned upwards; he leaned down. We were kissing, over and over again. They were small kisses, one right after the other, until he attempted to enter my mouth, and I pulled back.

"No," I spoke up, "Not ready."

And Oliver understood; he smiled and I think he respected me more in that moment. I'd done what he'd wanted: told him no when he'd tried to go too far. I'd proved that I didn't just want him because he was attractive, because it was so much more than that.

He whispered, "I love you," and it was my turn to test him.

"Why?" I questioned.

"Why?" He paused a moment, "is there a reason for loving someone? That's not what you're wanting, though. Let's see here…" He went on about his respect for me, about how most girls would have allowed him to slip his tongue inside their mouths, and about how I'd actually allowed him to explain himself when he'd touched my breast, and how there was just that feeling there inside of him that told him this was right.

"What about you? Why me?" He asked once he had finished, once I was satisfied with his explanation.

"Because--"

He cut me off, "That's all I need."

I smiled up at him, and I could certainly relate to his "feeling inside," because I had one too. Something definetely was screaming at me that this was right.

Still to this day, I cannot describe what first drew me to Oliver. But I know that part of why we are still together relies on the events of that evening.

That night, when we sat in the backseat of his father's car, and all we did was talk and kiss. That night, when he asked me if I was _happy_.

Yes, that night, when I fell in love with Oliver Oscar Oken...


End file.
